orific?
Second day's prompt is Love.
IDEK. A king and his spoil of war.
They dressed Lionel like a painted whore. The strings of beads hanging from his bedlah belt clacking as he walked down the hallways of this palace of stone, as he walked to the king.
The king, he seethed, that demanded him as spoil of war.
The two maids that accompanied him ushered him through the heavy wooden door that led to his majesty's bed chamber. He ignored the sneer that the armored soldier stationed to guard the door all night gave him. It couldn't be obvious enough the reason he was escorted to the king's private quarter at night, cleaned up and perfumed, dressed as he was.
The maids left him at the threshold; the door closed behind him with finality. He stood in the shadow, unsure of his welcome. The king's bed chamber was huge, darkness lurking where the lanterns' light couldn't touch. It reminded him a little of a dragon's den in story books he used to read as a young prince.
There was no flame from the hearth, not yet, this early in June. As it was, he hardly noticed the presence of a man sitting in an armchair in front of that unlit hearth.
The man, the king, he supposed, stood. The king's feature, comprised of light and shadows dancing to the sway of the lanterns' fire, was severe. Strong jaw and straight nose, a profile that should belong in a coin.
"Remind me of your name," the king commanded.
He drew himself up to his full height, shoulder tense. He was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. He was first and foremost, the third prince of his country, now ruined and ravaged by this man's soldiers.
"I am Lionel Inglis of Rhendas," he said, deliberately leaving the reverential denomination such as my lord, or your majesty. This man was not his king.
"Do you know why you are here?"
"I have been given to you as part of my father's term of surrender," he tried to make his voice as flat as possible.
The king's eyes glinted in the dark, like that of... a dragon, yes, a dragon. Green, almost black in the diminished light. How fitting, he mused.
"And why have you been given to me?" the king asked again, slower this time as if anticipating his answer.
Lionel's jaw clenched and unclenched before he said, "You asked for something my father loved the most."
The king smiled. His teeth were white, even row under lips as red as blood. "Yes," he said. "And here you are."
Lionel shivered despite himself.
IDEK. A king and his spoil of war.
They dressed Lionel like a painted whore. The strings of beads hanging from his bedlah belt clacking as he walked down the hallways of this palace of stone, as he walked to the king.
The king, he seethed, that demanded him as spoil of war.
The two maids that accompanied him ushered him through the heavy wooden door that led to his majesty's bed chamber. He ignored the sneer that the armored soldier stationed to guard the door all night gave him. It couldn't be obvious enough the reason he was escorted to the king's private quarter at night, cleaned up and perfumed, dressed as he was.
The maids left him at the threshold; the door closed behind him with finality. He stood in the shadow, unsure of his welcome. The king's bed chamber was huge, darkness lurking where the lanterns' light couldn't touch. It reminded him a little of a dragon's den in story books he used to read as a young prince.
There was no flame from the hearth, not yet, this early in June. As it was, he hardly noticed the presence of a man sitting in an armchair in front of that unlit hearth.
The man, the king, he supposed, stood. The king's feature, comprised of light and shadows dancing to the sway of the lanterns' fire, was severe. Strong jaw and straight nose, a profile that should belong in a coin.
"Remind me of your name," the king commanded.
He drew himself up to his full height, shoulder tense. He was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. He was first and foremost, the third prince of his country, now ruined and ravaged by this man's soldiers.
"I am Lionel Inglis of Rhendas," he said, deliberately leaving the reverential denomination such as my lord, or your majesty. This man was not his king.
"Do you know why you are here?"
"I have been given to you as part of my father's term of surrender," he tried to make his voice as flat as possible.
The king's eyes glinted in the dark, like that of... a dragon, yes, a dragon. Green, almost black in the diminished light. How fitting, he mused.
"And why have you been given to me?" the king asked again, slower this time as if anticipating his answer.
Lionel's jaw clenched and unclenched before he said, "You asked for something my father loved the most."
The king smiled. His teeth were white, even row under lips as red as blood. "Yes," he said. "And here you are."
Lionel shivered despite himself.